Call in the Army! Call in the Marines!

So I went out yesterday to refill the syrup feeder on the front of Elizabeth's hive and discovered the Castle was under attack!! I watched as hornet after hornet flew into the upper entrance on the hive and hornet after hornet was flying out. It was like they had taken up residence in there. I knew better, however, and knew they were THIEVES! Brigands! Usurpers! Their only intent was to rob the hive of honey. As I checked the ground in front of the hive I noticed my Amazons had put up a valiant fight; their bodies littered the gravel in front, along with three of the enemy. It honestly made me so upset that my hands were shaking as I ran back into the house to call my sister-in-law Lauri, one of those who have encouraged and mentored me throughout this first year of beekeeping. She calmed me down and we talked about what to do.

Thankfully I had Bronwyn at home, recovering from a weekend illness, and we suited up to go remove the honey super, frame by frame, from the hive. That was wild. We made a good team. I started with plugging up the upper hive entrance, on the lid, with some modeling clay I took from a large wad of Liam's (hope he doesn't mind). For the rest of the rescue operation I was in charge of keeping the smoker lit (it finally did stay lit for as long as there was fuel in it; the process took us long enough that I had to add a new wad of newspaper to keep us protected) and removing the frames from the hive. I would brush off each frame of bees and hornets (the vile little wretches) and Bronwyn would watch for bees around her and the big cooler we took out with us. Lauri said we would need something with a lid to keep the removed frames in to keep them protected. Bronwyn would help me look for insects on each frame and declare it clear before she would pop on the lid, I would deposit the frame as fast and carefully as possible, and she would slam down the lid before anything could fly inside.

She was very nervous at first, because bees have never landed on her protective gear before and stayed around. I was a little nervous too, because I knew the bees would be extra protective at this time of year. They were flying around my head too, although none of the bees did the "fly at my head and headbutt my veil" like others have described when the hive is stirred up. There was a LOT of flying activity, and the hornets kept going after each frame I pulled out and was trying to brush off. I would puff some smoke into the hive after every few frames and that seemed to keep things down to a dull roar.

The sound of a hive is an amazing thing. The buzzing is almost like a living organism. When I first approached the hive yesterday morning, I couldn't hear any sounds coming from inside the hive. It was quiet. When I took the lid off a little while later to begin removing honey super frames, the buzzing was calm and purposeful-sounding. The volume increased dramatically as soon as I started brushing bees off frames, although not before, when I would pull a frame out of the hive. With each successive frame we would hear a sudden crescendo of buzzing as I began brushing bees off into the hive. We could still hear noticeable buzzing even after closing up the hive. We got the frames into the garage, where they will be carefully stored to prevent any winter-time robbing. I don't know what happens to uncapped honey over the winter. I guess we're going to find out.

I've now removed the honey super and the queen excluder, so we're back down to our two deeps. This will be a manageable space for the bees to keep warm through the winter. They cluster together in a large bee ball to maintain warmth for the queen and any remaining brood. In the spring I will swap the two boxes, so the one on the bottom will be the one on top. Once the nectar starts flowing I'll put the honey super back on for the bees to finish filling up. And when they have filled that one, I'll put on another one! Yay for honey.

By the way, I stand corrected. I just double-checked, and my little Amazons took out seven hornets.